


Between Friends and Strangers

by PenguinofProse



Series: Season 7 speculation [11]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bellarke greatest hits, Brainwashed!Bellamy, Disciple!Bellamy, Episode speculation: 7x12 "The Stranger", F/M, Healing, Radio Calls, S7 speculation, This Is How It Ends, mcap, mental health, probably not but a penguin can dream, void!bellamy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25941880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: Bellamy's journey home after that last scene of 7.11. Speculative conclusion to the season, featuring MCAP, disciple!Bellamy, the final test and everything in between. Angst with a happy ending.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Season 7 speculation [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1783594
Comments: 40
Kudos: 143





	Between Friends and Strangers

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a speculative whole-of-the-rest-of-S7, picking up from that final scene in 7.11. Huge thanks to Stormkpr for betaing this so quickly and thoughtfully!
> 
> Please note this fic contains references to suicide, as well as unlabelled but graphic low mental health, comparable to what we see in canon.

Bellamy expected jumping off that cliff to be the toughest challenge of his newfound allegiance to the Shepherd. It was, quite literally, a massive leap of faith, and he was convinced that nothing would ever come close to measuring up to it.

But now he knows better. Now he knows that the real test of his faith lies in whether he is ready to look Clarke Griffin in the eyes and betray her.

He'll do it. He _has_ to do it – that's what his conscience tells him to do.

But it's difficult. It takes him a moment to compose himself and gather the strength. She looked so damn happy to see him, just then, and now she's hugging him as if her very sanity depends on it.

He used to love Clarke's hugs, once. They used to help him keep his head straight, too.

He forces down the rising tide of emotion that threatens to overwhelm him. The Shepherd is speaking, and Bellamy listens close, mind working a mile a minute. Clarke has said she is willing to help the cause? But she can't help the cause, because she doesn't have the flame.

Is this a scheme of hers? A ploy? Or is it straight-up self-sacrifice?

Bellamy needs to act, and he needs to act now.

"My Shepherd." He takes a deep breath. "There's something you should know. Clarke doesn't have the key."

A beat of silence. He can hear his own heart roaring in his ears. That's an interesting development – he wasn't aware he still had a heart, after giving up selfish love and all.

"I'm sorry." He doesn't know who he's apologising to. Is he apologising to Clarke, for betraying her? Is he apologising to Echo and Octavia, for not even giving them the time of day? Is he apologising to the Shepherd, for this blow to his plans?

Is he apologising to himself, for renouncing Clarke once and for all?

As he walks from the room at the Shepherd's side his knees are weak and trembling, and he cannot resist throwing one last glance at Clarke's devastated face. He shouldn't find this such a challenge, he chastises himself. She's lying to the Shepherd. He simply cannot tolerate that. He has to stay loyal to the cause.

But she's Clarke. Clarke Griffin. The Commander of Death who he coaxed back to life.

He used to love her, once.

…...

Long minutes pass before he fully regains his composure. They're walking down endless hallways, and it's all a bit disorientating. He's never spent time on Bardo before, has no idea where anything is.

"What happens now, my Shepherd?" He asks.

He is treated to a benevolent smile. "You've done very well, Bellamy. Such a devout pilgrim. You can have a few moments to get cleaned up and change. And then I'd like to show you more of what we do here."

Bellamy nods. He'd like that. He still doesn't entirely understand _what_ he believes in, only that he trusts in it utterly – so much he was prepared to throw himself off the side of a mountain with nothing more than faith and prayers.

There's something else he's wondering, too. He's not sure whether it's wise to ask it, but he finds himself doing so anyway.

"And – what will happen to Clarke and her people, now?" They used to be his friends, after all. One of them even shares his blood. It's no surprise that he would want to ask, even if he doesn't have any particular love for them, now that he has come into his faith.

"Don't you worry about that, Bellamy. I'll take care of it."

Bellamy nods. He trusts that the Shepherd will take care of it, just as the Shepherd has taken care of him, too.

…...

It turns out that MCAP is what happens to Clarke next. Bellamy is only just learning what MCAP is, of course, since he's so new to Bardo, but he is assured that this is all perfectly routine.

"I thought you might like to conduct Clarke's MCAP sessions, Bellamy." The Shepherd says, airy, as if offering a special treat.

Bellamy frowns. Is this a test? To check that his loyalty is to the cause and not to the woman he used to love?

"If that is your will, my Shepherd." He says, with a respectful nod.

The Shepherd is pleased with that. Bellamy can see it in his eyes.

…...

It is not easy to get Clarke into MCAP, it turns out. She's a fighter – Bellamy remembers that about her. He remembers everything about her, really, as far as he can tell. He remembers hugs and honesty and committing mass-murder together. It's just that none of those things seem to matter as much as they did before he came into his faith. It's like he remembers them with his head, rather than truly feeling them in his heart.

She looks shocked, when Bellamy first presents himself at her door. The Shepherd is by his side, and they have guards at their backs.

He doesn't understand why she looks so stunned. She knows he's with the Shepherd now. Is it perhaps the sudden change of outfit? The white robes and smooth chin and curly hair?

A stray thought occurs to him, quite without his permission. She hasn't seen him without that beard since the day he left her to burn in Praimfaya. The day they talked of hearts and heads, and he so nearly told her he loved her.

No. That thought has no place here. That thought was dangerously close to _romance_ , and his faith has no place for romance.

As her shock subsides, she starts to fight them. Not physically, really – she knows she's outnumbered. Even Octavia keeps herself to sullen looks rather than flying fists.

But Clarke fights them with her words.

"You're going to let them take me, Bellamy?" She hisses, angry. "You're going to stand there and watch them torture me?"

The Shepherd smiles that smile of his. "On the contrary, Clarke. Bellamy will be operating the MCAP equipment himself."

"You wouldn't." She gasps, shocked. "No. No, Bellamy. You can't. I won't let you do this to yourself." She cries, voice growing ever louder.

That's a strange thing to say, he thinks. _Do this to himself_? She's the one who's going into MCAP.

The Shepherd gives a signal, and the guards step forward to seize her even as she continues to spew nonsense.

"I'm not your enemy." She pleads, as two of the guards march her down the hallway by her arms, Bellamy and the Shepherd following behind.

Bellamy frowns. No one said anything about enemies – he does this for all mankind, not his own selfish ends.

"Please. You don't have to do this. I'm not your enemy." She cries out. He doesn't like to hear her in distress – no one should be distressed – but he cannot do much about it. This is for the greater good.

"We do have to do this." He informs her, tone neutral.

She starts tearing up, then. It's annoying, how those occasional stray tears seem to roll down her cheeks whenever he is around. Doesn't she understand that he has no time for tears and personal attachment, now?

"Please. I know I lied about the flame. But I did have it, once. I'm your best bet for finding out what's in there. If you just let my people go -"

"Your people." Bellamy snaps, annoyed. "Always about your people with you, isn't it? Just quiet down, Clarke."

She does, then, and he's glad of it. It's difficult to keep his head in the game and remember his faith when she's going on like that. It's distracting, and it reminds him that he used to be in love with her.

…...

Bellamy has never taken the lead in an MCAP session before, but he knows what he's doing. It's hardly difficult – he just has to talk and elicit memories, and the machine will do the rest.

"Clarke. You're in an endless desert with a vast purple sky. A hand reaches out for your own. Whose is it?"

He's not sure what he's expecting. Her mother, maybe, although he recalls that she's dead. Lexa and Wells and Finn are dead, too, and are people she used to love. Or perhaps she will reach out for Madi – that's the name of her daughter. It's strange, this, finding his memories fully intact yet looking back on them as if they belong to someone else.

He supposes that the Bellamy who went to Etherea was basically a different person from the one who came home, now he comes to think about it.

Whatever it is that he's expecting, he's taken by surprise when his own hand flashes up in Clarke's mind's eye, clasping hers as she entered the City of Light. He remembers loving her, but he sure as hell doesn't remember her loving _him_. Not like this, anyway. Not this overwhelming certainty that he is the person her mind latches onto.

If she loved him back, why the hell did they never get together while they had the chance?

No. That's a silly, selfish though. The Shepherd is looking at Bellamy curiously, as if annoyed at his temporary distraction.

He shakes himself a little and presses on with the script. "That's – uh – that's good, Clarke. That's me. Can you show me more of those memories?"

She shakes her head, hard, hitting herself on the side of the headrest. The spikes prick at her skin, leave little dots of blood. He watches, mesmerised, as the dots grow and bead and then spill over into rivulets that trickle down her skin.

The Shepherd coughs. Bellamy shakes himself again.

"Now, Clarke. Just relax and let me see those memories. That one there – the City of Light, wasn't it? That's very good. That's about the flame."

She doesn't shake her head, this time. She lies still, tears tracking slowly down her cheeks, mingling with those streaks of black blood.

He doesn't remember her crying so much, he muses. Perhaps his memories are not so perfect after all – or perhaps the last few days have changed her more than he realised. It's just as well he came into his faith and cut himself loose from her influence while he had the chance.

He makes one more attempt. "Clarke. You're holding out your hand and clasping mine. I'm with you as we journey in the light of the Shepherd. What can you show me about our journey?"

For a moment, he thinks that hasn't worked either. He thinks he's going to have to burn through her brain to get what they need, and he's not sure he has the stomach for that. It's not because he still harbours any particular affection for her, or anything. He just thinks that hurting people doesn't sound _kind_ , even if it is for the good of all mankind.

Then Clarke's voice starts to echo around the room.

"Bellamy, if you can hear me – if you're alive. It's been 2,199 days since Praimfaya."

He gasps, shocked. He knew she called him every day they were apart in Praimfaya, knew that logically that meant she really would call every last day, right up until number 2199. But knowing it and hearing it are rather different things, it turns out, and this hits him hard, a brutal punch in the belly.

"I don't know why I still do this everyday. Maybe It's my way of staying sane, not forgetting who I am...who I was."

Pathetic. He called her pathetic for that – he remembers. And he remembers the look on her face when she chose to laugh rather than cry in response.

"It's been safe for you to come down for over a year now. Why haven't you?"

She sounds broken. Sad and broken. He broke her. He -

"The bunker's gone silent, too. We tried digging them out for a while but there was too much rubble. I haven't made contact with them, either."

That's his Clarke – knowing he would want to hear about his sister, prioritising it even over telling her own news.

"Anyway, I still have hope."

He wonders if she still has hope now, with blood and tears tracking down her cheeks.

"Tell Raven to aim for the one spot of green, and you'll find me. The rest of the planet, from what I've seen, basically sucks, so – never mind. I see you."

She sounds overjoyed. That's the thing that really gets him – after all that sorrow, she sounds so damn happy to see that ship she thinks is bringing him home.

Just as she looked so happy, yesterday, on seeing him returned from the dead.

"Disciple Blake?" The Shepherd's sharp voice cuts into his thoughts.

"Yes, my Shepherd?"

"Well? Aren't you going to carry on? We didn't put her in that chair just for one love letter, did we?"

Right. Yes. Carry on. Carry on torturing Clarke for memories. Carry on watching their tragic love story through her eyes. Carry on remembering everything he has chosen to give up.

Carry on doing the Shepherd's bidding.

He clears his throat, tries to collect himself. Takes a deep breath.

"Thank you, Clarke. Now let's get back to the flame."

She refuses. She simply outright refuses, twisting on the chair, pricking at her skin, whining like an injured animal.

And then, once again:

"Bellamy, if you can hear me – if you're alive. It's been 2,199 days since Praimfaya."

He sighs, defeated. And she knows she's won – she repeats that radio message four more times, clinging to it as if to a lifeline. The sound of it echoes in the too-white room, has him sweating under his too-white robes. He can't do this. He does the Shepherd's bidding, obviously he does. But he's only human, and putting his love behind him is quite tricky, when she's rubbing it in his face like this, even as she's shaking and crying and bleeding.

The Shepherd must sense that he is wavering, because he calls a halt.

"We'll try again tomorrow." He tells Bellamy. "If that doesn't work, we'll send her to Penance for a while. That will break her spirit."

Penance. Isolation. The madness that comes with being separated from friends, with no way off the planet.

Bellamy wouldn't wish that on anyone.

"Yes, my Shepherd." He intones obediently.

"Very good, disciple Blake. And tell me – what have you learnt from today's visit to MCAP?"

He hesitates, considers his answer. He's learnt that Clarke loves him, or used to love him. He's learnt that he doesn't much like blood or tears or screams.

He's learnt that love is weakness, and that a radio call can test his faith.

"I've learnt that I must put romantic love behind me." He tells the Shepherd calmly. "I need to speak to Echo as soon as possible. We were in a relationship, before I found my faith."

"Very good, Bellamy." The Shepherd lays a paternal hand on his shoulder. "I knew you would find this most enlightening."

…...

Bellamy walks into the dining hall for supper just one pace behind the Shepherd. He never expected his Shepherd to take his meals in the dining hall like a common disciple, but apparently that's something he likes to do now and then, to show his people that he does not consider himself apart from them.

He's very wise, Bellamy decides. He understands that it's important for his people to feel he is accessible to them.

"Would you like to sit and eat with me, Bellamy?" The Shepherd offers.

Bellamy finds his heart warming a little at that. He likes how the Shepherd calls him by name – it gives him a sense of belonging.

He's on the point of nodding in agreement when he sees who else is in the dining hall. There, over in the corner, his former friends are sitting. Clarke is next to Octavia, and opposite Miller. Echo and Raven sit side-by-side. And it hits him, all at once, that he'd really like to go and sit with them. Not because he still feels any particular partiality for them, of course, but because it seems only reasonable to want to catch up with them and make them feel welcome in Bardo. And because maybe this could be his first step in bringing them to the cause, too. He could tell them all about his journey, and about his newfound faith, and perhaps then they could all be happy together, working for the good of all mankind.

He looks at them for a couple of long seconds, but they will not look back. Most of them refuse to even meet his gaze – he gets a confrontational glare from Octavia, but that's about it. No, the only one who truly looks him in the eyes is Clarke, and her expression is a strange mixture of hurt and concern and warmth.

He pushes down the funny feeling he finds rising from the pit of his stomach at that.

"I'd be honoured to eat with you." He tells the Shepherd, because that is the truth – it would be a real honour.

The Shepherd nods, pleased.

"Why are the prisoners in the dining hall?" Bellamy asks, tone neutral, trying very hard not to stare at Clarke.

"I don't think they're a threat, now that they've seen you are with me. And it will do everyone good to see us working together. If they cause more trouble, we can send them to Penance. But she was right earlier – they could still help us with the stone."

Bellamy nods at that. He tears his gaze away from Clarke, narrows his eyes at the guards sat on the adjacent table to the people he used to love, notes the way they watch his former friends a little too closely to be an accident. Clearly, then, Clarke and her people are ostensibly no longer imprisoned, yet in practice not free.

Really, Bellamy thinks, the Shepherd is very wise indeed.

…...

Bellamy breaks up with Echo after supper. He supposes she probably didn't consider herself tied to him from the moment he made it clear where his loyalties now lie on returning home, but he likes to do things properly.

He doesn't overcomplicate it – he just tells her the truth.

"I can't love you, any more. I can't love _any_ individual."

She frowns. "This isn't right, Bellamy. This isn't -"

"You have to understand, Echo. I follow the ways of the Shepherd now. And the Shepherd teaches us that romantic love is selfish."

For a moment, he thinks Echo might be about to snap. She's a dangerous woman, and he's watching for her to rant or rave or perhaps even physically attack him.

But in the end, she only bites out an angry question. "If you don't believe in romantic love any more, why are you still looking at Clarke like she hung the moon?"

That's a very good question. He's been wondering that quite a lot himself, today.

…...

The Shepherd is not in attendance for Clarke's second visit to MCAP. Bellamy is almost a little hurt by that – he was honoured to receive so much of his attention since he returned from his pilgrimage on Etherea. But he cannot be selfish and demand the Shepherd's time, so he simply accepts this change of circumstances and has the guards walk Clarke to the room and strap her to the chair.

She's quieter, today, not screaming. But she wears resistance in her every look, every gesture. She drags her feet, moves slowly and heavily. Yet when she meets his eyes, she looks more sad and almost _pitying_ than angry.

He tries to get started with capturing her memories, but she won't cooperate. She cuts her skin on the headpiece again, twisting and turning until black blood runs down her face. She's crying, too, tears tracking silently down her cheeks.

Most disturbing of all is the mantra she chooses to repeat. It's not a radio call today – it's something far worse.

"You're forgiven." She tells him, loud and clear. "You're forgiven. You're forgiven. You're forgiven."

He tries to block it out. He knows she's just trying to keep him out of her head, and he knows that it's a reference to their shared history, too – he still remembers everything, after all. He remembers every conversation they've ever had about forgiveness, and remembers the way he used to hold tight to her words, in the dark of night when his demons would keep him awake.

But he has a new faith to keep the demons away, now.

"Clarke. I need you to cooperate with me, Clarke. I don't want to have to hurt you."

She ignores him. "You're forgiven. You're forgiven. You're forgiven."

"Clarke. Please."

She shakes her head, draws a little more blood. "You're forgiven. You're forgiven. You're forgiven."

He sighs. This isn't helping anyone. Deciding a change of tack is in order, he beckons one of the guards.

"Fetch me a damp cloth." He requests. "Or an antiseptic wipe, or a flannel. Whatever you have."

The guard frowns, visibly confused.

"Do it." He demands, trying for an authoritative tone.

It works. The guard sets out the door. Bellamy stands there, aware of the eyes of the other guards, and forces himself to watch Clarke bleed with an impassive expression. He's not doing this out of love for her, he reminds himself, and he doesn't want the guards to start suspecting otherwise. He's just trying a new tactic in the hopes of getting the information the Shepherd needs.

The guard is back within minutes, clutching a med kit and a small hand towel. Bellamy smiles at him, well pleased with a task well done. It's a privilege, working alongside his fellow disciples – they really are good at getting on with following orders. They don't seem to hang around and chat much, but that's fine. They're all here to serve the Shepherd, not to make friends.

He steps forward, with a soft wipe in his hand, and approaches Clarke.

"I'm going to move the headpiece and get you cleaned up." He informs her, in a soft whisper. "There's no need to hurt yourself, Clarke. I don't want to see you in pain."

Her eyes dart to his, light and hopeful. He curses – he should have known that would come out sounding affectionate.

"I mean – there's no need for anyone to suffer, here. We just want our answers."

He eases away the headpiece but leaves her strapped into the chair. And then he makes a start on wiping the blood and tears off her face.

She's got nice skin, he notes absently as he wipes. It's soft and a gentle, blushing shade of pink. He can see why he used to find her so attractive – but obviously, he's only noticing that in a detached, objective kind of way.

"Why are you doing this?" She whispers, urgent, as he works.

"There's no need for you to be covered in blood."

"No, I mean – why are you doing _this_?"

He swallows. "I do the Shepherd's bidding."

"Bellamy -"

"You have to try again, Clarke. You have to show me what I need. He'll send you to Penance to break you if he has to. And I don't want that for you. I wouldn't want that for _anyone_." He corrects himself, flustered.

She shakes her head, eyes determined.

He sighs. He presumes she's still trying to buy time for her friends, like she so clearly was when he first returned from Etherea. That's proof if any were needed that love is painful, he thinks – the way she's so determined to sacrifice herself for them.

"You'll be sent to Penance." He repeats.

Again, she shakes her head.

He gathers his courage, and prepares for the trump card. "I'll tell him about Madi if I have to." He whispers, urgently, too quiet for the guards to hear. "Will you cooperate so I don't tell him about Madi?"

More silent tears track down her face. He wipes those up, too. "You'd tell him about Madi?"

"If I have to. For all mankind."

"Bellamy, if this is an act – if they're threatening you with something – you can tell me. You know you can."

"I'm not acting. This is real. Etherea changed me." He informs her robustly.

She cries harder, then, her silence giving way to gentle panting sobs. But even as she cries, she leans into his touch, and it makes for an odd paradox, he thinks. A conflict, of sorts.

An oxymoron, almost.

No. He mustn't think about that. He brushes a last tear aside, finishes cleaning her wounds. And then he sets the headpiece back in place and looms over her.

"You'll tell me what I need to know." He requests, in a firm whisper. "Otherwise I'll tell the Shepherd your daughter was the most recent person to take the flame."

She nods, silent, eyes dry and gaze resolute.

"Clarke. You're in an endless desert with a vast purple sky. A hand reaches out for your own. Whose is it?"

This time, he is not surprised to watch his hand clasp hers in the Polis tower.

"Very good. That's what we're looking for, Clarke. Tell me what happened right after that, Clarke. Show me when you took the flame."

She does, to some extent. But she doesn't show him what was _in_ the flame, not really. She shows him the way he protected her in life, and Lexa protected her in the flame. She shows him the City of Light, Jasper eating his carefree ice cream, the mob hunting her down.

She shows him the moment he fed her the chip, the tenderness with which he placed it on her tongue.

"Clarke. That's not quite what we're after. Let's go back to -"

"Wait." She instructs him, firm.

He's about to tell her she's not in charge around here, but she catches him by surprise with a new bout of memories. These are to do with the flame, still – but again, they are not about what is _in_ the flame, but about the memories Clarke associates with it, the way it stirs up political strife and can ruin lives.

She shows him Polis, and the Second Dawn bunker, and most of all she shows him his old betrayal.

She shows him what it was like, to watch him leave her chained in a cell as he went to put the flame in Madi's head. She shows him the loneliness and the anger of watching him betray her, when she loved him. She shows him the horror of fearing for her daughter's life.

"Why are you showing me this?" He asks, caught off-guard. "This isn't – I asked you what was _in_ the flame."

"Because I need you to see it." She murmurs. "I need to remind you that it's always the flame that comes between us. Back in Polis, just as it is now."

"Why did you tell me about the flame right away?" He has to ask, although he knows it's not exactly the information he has been asked to gather. He's been wondering it since she first whispered the words to him on his arrival back from Etherea.

"Because I trusted you." She says, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world – or perhaps even the universe.

He frowns, feels his jaw tighten. Every time she trusts him, he lets her down, a little voice whispers in his ear. That's what he's found himself reminded of by watching her memories today. He remembers what Doucette said, about the worst pain of all – being betrayed by someone you love.

Apparently he is fated to just keep hurting Clarke Griffin.

He steps forward, wipes away a couple more of her tears. Being gentle with her has definitely earned him more of her memories than the direct attack, so he stands by his decision to show her a little kindness. It's not because of his old attachment to her – it's just tactics, he maintains.

"Why did you tell them the truth?" She whispers up at him.

He could remind her that he's the one asking the questions, here. But isn't this another opportunity to win her over, to convince her to open her mind more freely?

"It was my duty to the Shepherd." He informs her smartly. Then he thinks, takes a deep breath, and adds a little more. "But also – because I know you. I knew you'd have some plan that would leave you dead and save the others. And I still think that you're better alive." He swallows. "More useful alive, I mean. For the good of all mankind."

She nods. He wipes away another of her silent tears, steps back to the controls.

He never does end up telling the Shepherd about Madi. It's just not relevant, right now, he decides.

…...

His more gentle approach seems to be paying off. She comes willingly, for her next MCAP session, without fighting the guards at all. He repays her cooperation in kind, keeping his hands gentle as he straps her into the chair himself.

"Today we're going to look at your memories of the flame." He says. He thinks it's a little pointless – she knows what he's looking for, by now. But apparently that is how it works. He's supposed to offer prompts like that to point her memories in the right direction.

"No we're not." She tells him, tone even.

"Clarke -"

He never gets to finish that sentence – which is probably just as well, as he's not sure what he would have said. Before her name is even out of his mouth she is bombarding him, instead, with a barrage of memories.

This is good, he decides. She's cooperating wholeheartedly, sharing everything she can.

Then he understands that this is not cooperation at all. It is rebellion, but it is a very _Clarke_ kind of a rebellion. She's showing him the story of their relationship, frame upon frame upon frame of unspoken love and absolute devotion, sprinkled with a good dose of heartbreak along the way.

There's so much material, here, that he cannot keep up. He desperately wants to record it all, so that he can watch it back, scene by scene, drink in every last detail.

No. He mustn't do that – that's just his foolish, selfish heart speaking.

"One thing at a time, Clarke." He pleads.

She slows down. She starts with their hugs, from Camp Jaha, right through to that rather colder hug he gave her when he returned from Etherea. She dwells a little longer on their last hug before Praimfaya than on the others, and that has him blinking back tears.

That used to be his favourite hug, too.

She moves onto other soft, domestic moments after that. He never realised there were so many of them – he always thought of their love as a rather brutal thing, forged in the heat of war. But she shows him laughs shared at the dropship camp, drinks shared at Camp Jaha. There's that time he fell asleep on the couch in her office, and every road trip they ever took together in the rover.

It's so strange, watching moments he knows intimately, but seen from the other side.

It gets heavier, after that. He sees her shaking hand, raising a gun at him in the Polis bunker. He sees himself crouching at her feet in Arkadia during the reign of Pike. He hears his own desperate voice crying that he needs her as she fights for her life against Josephine.

And then he sees the stone room, and feels what Clarke felt, the moment she heard he was dead.

It hits him as an almost physical blow, has him staggering backwards and dialling down the power on the machine.

"What are you doing?" He asks her, horrified. "This isn't the flame."

"No. But it's what you need to see. I need to remind you that you've got the biggest heart of anyone I know. Love is what makes you tick. And you and me – we – we -"

"I don't need to see it." He tells her firmly. "I remember it. I remember everything – it's not that I've forgotten. I've _changed_."

"OK. Yeah. I understand that. I just – I want you to know -"

"Clarke. I think we're done for the day." He turns and beckons the guards, orders them to escort her back to her room.

But despite his firm resolve to get her out of there, to reject her reminders of their love story, he cannot get it out of his head for the rest of the day. He cannot help but dwell on the fact that his last thought before Etherea was of Clarke – Octavia was going to make a deal and tell them all about her, and he remembers being worried sick about that. He remembers sitting in a cave with Doucette's motionless body and thinking of Clarke, admitting out loud that he loved her for the very first time.

He's a loyal disciple, and he stands firm in his faith to the Shepherd. That faith is what saved him, on Etherea. That faith is what brought him safely back from the mountainside.

But it was love for Clarke that gave him the will to climb the mountain in the first place, and he cannot seem to convince himself to forget that, either.

…...

He doesn't ask the guards to fetch Clarke, next time she is due for a session in MCAP. He dispenses with the guards altogether and simply presents himself at her door.

"No guards?" She asks, seeing him there alone.

"No. I didn't think we needed them now you've decided to cooperate." He swallows. "I know you're not going to hurt me."

She offers him a soft smile, and walks quietly at his side as they set out down the hall.

…...

Bellamy thinks it makes perfect sense to sit with Miller at supper. Miller is a good guy, loyal to a fault, and he could be a real asset to the cause. Bellamy thinks it would be a good idea if he could try to show his former friend his new faith.

There's that, and there's also the fact that Miller is good company. Funny and warm, that's how Bellamy remembers him. And sure, he doesn't have friends or personal affection these days, but he still thinks it's perfectly valid to spend supper laughing with a funny guy.

That's not how it turns out, in the end.

"What are you doing here?" Miller asks, short, looking about him. Bellamy's not sure what he's searching for – a way out or his friends, based on his unfriendly tone.

He tries to sound conciliatory. "I'm here to eat my supper. Are you enjoying your meal?"

"I've lost my appetite." Miller bites out. "So much for the hundred."

Bellamy frowns. He catches his former friend's reference – they clashed back in that bunker in Polis. In fact, it seems to him that he clashed with almost everyone he cared about, then, just as he's clashing with everyone he used to care about, now.

Miller continues. "I followed Blodreina, Bellamy. So I know what I'm talking about now when I say you don't want to do this. Clarke loves you, and you loved her. So why the hell would you put her through all this? Why the hell are you taking her to MCAP?"

"She doesn't mind. She's cooperating." He says, because that seems more useful than addressing those comments about love. He's very aware that Clarke loves him, and that he loved Clarke – it's been made quite clear to him, in recent days.

Miller snorts, takes his tray and strides away. Bellamy misses him. Not out of affection, or anything, but because good company at supper is hard to come by, round here, in this place where no one truly has friends and the other disciples seem content to leave him to eat his meal in silence. It's a lonely life, but at least he has his faith.

When Miller is gone, Bellamy finds himself left alone with his thoughts.

_She doesn't mind. She's cooperating._

The words come to him easily – almost too easily – because they are familiar.

They are the lies he tells himself so he can sleep at night.

…...

He's trying to ask Clarke more specific questions in their MCAP sessions, now. That seems more useful than asking her about the flame in general and then getting frustrated when she shows him their love story instead.

"Tell me about Madi." He requests today, speaking openly because they have no need for guards, these days, and so no one is listening in. "Tell me everything about her. If you can show me everything so I can be sure she's not a threat, we'll have no reason to go looking for her. She'll be safe."

"You already know everything about her. You know her. You've met her, you've spoken to her, you gave her the flame."

"Clarke." His tone is a warning.

She sighs. "I'll do it. Of course I'll do it. Promise you won't hurt her?"

"I promise." He says easily.

It strikes him a second later. It's damn weird that she's asking for his promise when he betrayed her only days ago, and when he's currently got her strapped to a chair with a spike hanging over her.

He brushes that thought aside, because it's not comfortable. Also because it's not useful, and doesn't serve the Shepherd.

Clarke starts showing him the story of Madi – but she does not start with the child herself.

She starts with a very different scene. She shows him the rocket, taking off for space, set against the backdrop of orange flames as the world burned.

She's looking at the scene from quite high up, he notes. She must be actually on the tower at this point.

"You were still climbing the tower when you saw the rocket take off?"

"Yeah."

 _I'm so sorry_. The words are on the tip of his tongue. But he doesn't say them – he mustn't. He doesn't love Clarke any more, and that's that.

She moves swiftly on, shows him the death wave bearing down on her as she ran, shows him even the black blood she vomited up on the lab floor. She shows him the weeks she spent in the lab, followed by the hours she spent digging out the rover. She shows him the days she spent wandering in the desert.

And then she shows him several long minutes in which she debated whether to take her own life. Seconds, which feel to him like lifetimes, in which she held a gun pressed to her own temple.

"I never knew." He gasped. "I didn't know."

"Does it help you understand why I love her so much?" She asks, tears tracking down her face. "And does it help you understand why I was obsessed with calling you?"

He nods, not able to speak. He ought to call a halt to this – none of this is useful to the Shepherd, and it's only upsetting both of them, raking back over old trauma. But he simply cannot look away.

She doesn't shoot herself, in that memory, in the end. He knew it would be like that – she's alive, after all – but it still has him sighing in relief.

He steps forward, wipes a couple of tears from her cheeks. He doesn't have a cloth, today, so he has to use gentle fingertips, but she doesn't seem to mind. She still leans into his touch, as if even after everything, he makes her feel safe.

That makes him feel like the worst kind of monster.

No. He's not a monster. He's just doing the Shepherd's bidding.

"Tell me more." He begs, repressing tears.

She shows him the rest of the story in painstaking detail. She shows him a bear trap and meeting Madi, and how that grows into drawing by the fireside together and forming a truly happy family. She shows him the struggle to survive, both mental and physical.

She shares a lot more radio calls – whole speeches or simply snippets, key messages of _I need you_ and _I miss you_ and _I don't blame you_.

She never does blame him, and that's more than he deserves.

…...

He has a nightmare that night. He has a lot of nightmares, in general, so this shouldn't be a problem. Months clinging to life by his torn fingernails on Etherea will do that to a guy. Mostly he gets through them by kneeling at his bedside and reciting his prayers, remembering that the Shepherd's protection will keep him safe from harm.

This nightmare is different. This nightmare is about Clarke on the verge of killing herself, holding a gun to her own head. He can't reach her, no matter what he tries, first wading through desert sand, then reaching across the vastness of space to her, then restricted by the confines of his white robes holding him fast.

He takes shuddering breaths and tries to be calm. He gets out of bed, kneels on the floor, tries to recite his prayers.

It's not working.

It's not working because having nightmares about Clarke's safety doesn't combine very well with a faith that has no concept of individual love. It's not working because all he really wants is a hug, but he cannot have a hug. Physical comfort is not something they have much time for, here on Bardo, and anyway there is no one he could ask. He's barely seen Doucette since they got back here – it's as if the Shepherd suspects they became too close on Etherea. The Shepherd is hardly one for hugging his disciples when they are so weak as to worry about nightmares.

And he wants to hug Clarke, but obviously that's not an option.

He climbs back into bed, curls in on himself and wraps his arms tight around his knees. He tries to remember his mother, and the warmth with which she welcomed him into the light. He tries to remember how good it felt, to find his faith and feel safe. He tries to remember the utter relief of falling through thin air and emerging in the stone room here on Bardo.

He tries to remember that at least he'll get to see Clarke, first thing tomorrow. At least he'll get to see her when he straps her to a chair and blackmails her into giving up her mind for the cause.

…...

It has happened so gradually that he hasn't really noticed it, but he and Clarke seem to have started speaking as they walk to and from her MCAP sessions together. It starts out trivial – asking after each other's physical health and whether they enjoyed breakfast – but before long the day arrives when Clarke has something weightier on her mind.

"Have you thought about speaking to Octavia?" She asks softly. "I know you have your faith now and you don't see her as your sister but – you're still her brother in her mind. I know she'd like some reassurance that you're physically well at least."

"She would?" It's news to him. "She hasn't tried to speak to me at all."

"Of course she hasn't. Can't you understand why?"

He sighs, nods. He can see that it's difficult for the people he used to love. They don't understand his new faith. They were not there on Etherea – that's precisely the problem.

Something makes him ask a different question. "And what about you, Clarke? Why are you still speaking to me?"

She doesn't give the obvious answer. She doesn't point out that she's essentially his hostage, held in check by her love of her daughter, and that they are obliged to walk down a hallway together twice a day. Instead she answers the question he's really asking – why is it that she still speaks to him as if they're more friends than strangers?

She is silent for a long time, before collecting herself and speaking. "Octavia loved you almost by default because you were her brother. You've renounced that relationship, so that's hard for her. But it was never like that for me. I didn't love you out of family loyalty. I _chose_ you."

That makes him want to cry. But he can't cry, he mustn't cry, so he answers brusquely instead. "That was a long time ago." He reminds her. It feels like another lifetime, to him.

"No." She corrects him, fierce, raising her voice in anger for the first time since she started cooperating, he thinks. "I'm _still_ choosing you. Every single day. I haven't given up on you yet and I never will."

"Clarke -"

"You remember the grounder massacre?" She continues, riding roughshod over his attempts to stop her and move this conversation back to safer ground.

He nods.

"You remember how much you were hurting because you thought I'd given up on you? I'd left you, and you thought I'd chosen Lexa and a life in Polis over you? You remember that?"

He nods, because he does remember it, even if he doesn't live or love that way any more.

"And I remember how much I was hurting, because I thought you'd given up on me that day. You wouldn't help me. You locked me up." She stops herself, swallows loudly. "I'm never going to give up on you, because I know now that it hurts, when someone you love gives up on you."

He wonders if they are still talking about the grounder massacre and his time with Pike, or whether she's talking about how much she is hurting, now, as she struggles to cope with the way he has given up loving her. But that's different, he wants to tell her – that's giving it up as in renouncing it for the greater good, not giving up on her in the sense of abandoning her through sheer indifference.

He's not sure he has the words to explain that well enough. And he definitely doesn't have the strength to tell her all that without falling apart.

He takes a deep breath, tries to steer this conversation at least somewhat back on track.

"Can you show me the time I followed Pike, today? Can you show me what that was like for you?"

She nods. "You're not going to like it."

That doesn't matter. What he _likes_ doesn't matter, any more. He's all about what needs to be done, and that's that.

So it is that he helps her into the chair, and ties her down – although perhaps a little more loosely than yesterday. And then he asks her to start showing him her memories, and he watches through her horrified eyes as he makes a series of fantastically poor decisions out of love and hurt and heartbreak.

This has absolutely nothing to do with the flame, and he's well aware of it. But he's determined to see it all the same.

…...

He speaks to Octavia the next day. It's horrific – not easy like speaking to Clarke.

He approaches her in the supper queue. Clarke is standing behind her, giving him an encouraging smile over her shoulder. There don't seem to be as many guards milling around the general area of his former loved ones as there used to be, when he first arrived back from Etherea. Perhaps Clarke's cooperation has bought them a little more trust, he wonders.

"Hello, Octavia." He greets her.

"Bellamy. What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to say hello. How are you doing?" He asks, nervous. There are no instructions in _The Shepherd's Passage_ for how to hold a polite conversation with a relative he's trying not to love, and it's difficult to know what to say. At least he was actually given instructions for the near-impossible pilgrimage through Etherea, he muses, with a cold sort of irony.

Sometimes irony can be funny. He remembers that. But this is not one of those times.

"How do you think I'm doing? My big brother has turned into someone I barely recognise." She tells him, with a harsh bite to her tone.

"He's got his old haircut back." Clarke offers, incongruously light, breaking into the conversation.

He smiles at her in gratitude, but Octavia is not amused. "Great. He's got his old haircut. I'll be thinking of that when he next takes someone I care about into MCAP."

He gives up, then, and flees the dining hall. He's not that hungry, anyway. Not as hungry as he was on Etherea, back before the Shepherd's light guided him home.

…...

He asks Clarke to show him what it was like to have Josephine in her head, next. That seems like a sensible move, he decides. It's an opportunity to learn more about Becca Franco's work on neural implants, which will be of relevance to their research on the flame.

That's how he excuses it to himself, anyway. He has to admit there's also a tiny bit of straight-up curiosity at work in his request.

But not love, of course. Never love. Obviously not love.

"What do you want to see?" Clarke asks him, compliant and willing and even smiling a little.

"Everything." He requests – or possibly pleads.

She obliges. She shows him absolutely everything, from dancing with Cillian and trying to ignore the way Bellamy himself stared from across the floor, right through to the makeshift surgery in Gabriel's tent.

"I need you. Madi needs you. You're a fighter, now get up and fight!"

His own words echo around the room. Clarke lies still, absolutely motionless, her story told. The only sign she's even alive is the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathes and the couple of those silent tears he's become so familiar with that trickle down her cheeks.

He'll go and wipe them away for her, he decides, just as soon as he's finished drying his own eyes.

…...

The Shepherd doesn't spend as much time with him as he did at first, but that's fine. He's a very important and busy man, and Bellamy understands that. He does not expect to be coddled or fussed over or even to have company very often. He spends a lot of time alone, sure, but at least he has his faith.

Tonight, though, he has the honour of being invited for supper in the Shepherd's private quarters. They eat avocado toast – a strange privilege Bellamy knows he is supposed to be flattered by – and make small talk about very little.

And then the Shepherd asks one significant question, and Bellamy understands why he has really been invited here today.

"Did I see you're still conducting MCAP sessions with Clarke?"

"Yes. Her head's a complicated place." He says it as if it's a joke, but he's fast coming to realise it's the absolute truth.

"Hmm. Yes, I imagine so. And what have you learnt? What do you have for me?"

Bellamy takes a deep breath and begins. He tells the Shepherd every minute detail of the day Clarke took the flame, everything he knows about the City of Light. He stretches it out, really going into depth, and highlighting, too, every place where he still has questions and thinks there is more yet to learn. Most of all, he emphasises the message of patience – the Shepherd's patience is his example, now, as he carefully explores every corner of Clarke's mind.

The Shepherd is well pleased when he is done, and gladly encourages Bellamy to spend even more time in MCAP with Clarke finding the answers to those additional questions.

Bellamy sighs in relief. His Shepherd is proud of him, and he has made a valuable contribution to the cause.

And he's managed to do that without mentioning Madi or betraying Clarke's trust any further, and he cannot help but think that's a good thing, too. Not because he has any particular attachment to either of them. Just because he thinks it's better when conflict can be resolved with the fewest possible casualties.

…...

Bellamy respects Clarke, and he enjoys the time they spend walking down the hallways together en route to or from MCAP. He figures that's fine – he's not supposed to have particular friends, because that can lead to poor choices, and he's had enough of those for a lifetime. But he's allowed to feel healthy respect for his fellow human beings and pass the time of day with them.

So it is that, when she takes a moment during one of their walks to invite him to sit with her for supper, he says yes. He's fed up of sitting on his own for supper anyway, and he's done that almost every day since Miller snapped at him. No one warned him that acting for all mankind would be so damn lonely. He's almost as lonely now, in fact, as he was on Etherea – albeit under very different circumstances.

"Great." She looks genuinely happy at the thought, and that gives him a strange kind of twisting sensation in his gut. "I look forward to it. See you later."

"Yeah. See you later."

He goes on his way and spends the time doing some weapons training. He needs to stay sharp, if he's to serve his Shepherd in the last war. And then the hour for supper rolls around, and he wanders towards the dining hall. There's no need to be nervous, he reminds himself. This is just Clarke. They spend time together every day and it's perfectly comfortable. And anyway, it doesn't matter if he makes a mess of this – it's not like he wants them to become friends.

"There you are." She's waiting just inside the door when he arrives.

"Hey. Sorry." He's a little flustered, he doesn't mind admitting it. He wasn't aware he was late, but she's already here, so he must be.

"It's OK. Come on, let's get some food. And then the others are sitting over there." She says, gesturing to a table filled with his former friends.

He panics, pure and simple. "I can't, Clarke. I can't sit there. They all hate me."

She shakes her head, firm. "They don't. They just miss you, and they don't understand you. But don't confuse that for hatred."

He tries to digest that as they collect their food. He doesn't have much success, really. And he doesn't know what the point of this orchestrated supper party is. It's like Clarke is trying to help him make friends, when she knows full well that he doesn't believe in having particular friends.

His heart is roaring in his ears by the time he takes a seat at the table. They've even saved him a place right in the thick of things – Clarke is on one side of him, Miller on the other. Octavia and Raven and Echo sit across from them, with Hope and Niylah and Jordan towards the end of the table. There are so damn many people surrounding him – more people than he thinks he has _spoken to_ since he got back from Etherea – and the pair of guards ostensibly enjoying their meals on the adjacent table do not help him to feel at ease, either.

He doesn't know how to do this. He doesn't know where to start. What should he -

"Bellamy was just telling me he's happy to see the chickpeas on the menu tonight." Clarke offers, tone bright.

He frowns. He was saying no such thing, but as it happens, he does quite like chickpeas.

"Me too." Miller volunteers. "I swear they're better than the lentils, aren't they? They've got more texture. I like to know I'm eating food."

Bellamy nods tentatively. "Yeah. It's exactly like that. I don't want to eat mush for every meal."

"I do miss meat though." Raven chimes in. "I haven't had venison in centuries."

There's a little nervous laughter at that. Bellamy doesn't quite manage to laugh, but he does try for a smile.

"When this last war is over and we're back in Sanctum, I'll go find us some real supper." Echo offers.

Bellamy stiffens a little at that. These people plan to go back to Sanctum when the war is done, and presumably he is to stay here in Bardo, now that he is a disciple. And he's not really going to miss them, obviously, because he doesn't love them. But he does think that they're not bad company at the dinner table.

To his surprise, it is Octavia who smooths over that awkward moment. "Bellamy, have you tried the apple pie?"

He shakes his head. "Not yet. But I do like apples. I guess I'd like apple pie."

"Here. Have some of mine."

"No – no, I couldn't."

Clarke nudges him a little with her elbow. "She's not going to take no for an answer. Seriously, just take the pie."

He nods, awkward, but somehow moved. Octavia places a portion of pie on his plate, and yeah, sure, he was half way through a forkful of chickpeas but he has to try the pie now, doesn't he?

It's really good, it turns out – sweet and rich and the pastry is flaky. But it is even better to have someone to share food with. He's not had that since he shared supplies with Doucette back on Etherea.

He used to share rations with Octavia all the time. He remembers that, but it feels more real, now.

"That's really good pie. Thanks, Octavia."

"Any time."

He gives a tentative smile, tries to follow the conversation as Miller starts talking. Something about being invited to join the disciples for weapons training, and Bellamy did some weapons training today, so he finds that he is able to join in. And then Echo is speaking up, too, and that makes a lot of sense because he remembers that weapons training is something she has a special talent for.

He likes eating supper with these people, he decides.

It isn't until he lies in bed that night that he finds himself thinking a dangerous thought. He wonders if he can have both, whether there is any way of following the Shepherd and giving him his loyalty in gratitude for saving him on Etherea, whilst also having real friends.

He wonders if he can follow in the Shepherd's footsteps, whilst also following his own heart.

…...

Clarke seems to ask Bellamy more questions than he asks her, these days. He doesn't much mind – the Shepherd is happy with what he's learnt from her so far, and he's still gaining information slowly but surely, so it's all fine.

Today she has a most unexpected question as they walk down the hallways.

"Would you tell me about Etherea?" She asks. "What it was like there and how you found your faith?"

He agrees right away. Apart from anything else, he figures this could be a good opportunity to convince her to give that same faith a chance, too. And that would solve a lot of problems, both personal and political. If she were to start following the Shepherd of her own free will they could give up on all this MCAP business and she could just help them out. And if she were to join the cause and renounce love, he wouldn't have to feel conflicted about not being able to love her the way he still instinctively wants to whenever he looks at her sad eyes.

He tells her everything, one painful detail at a time. From fighting with Doucette to becoming his brother, from reading the words of the Shepherd with scepticism to believing the truth of them in his heart.

He tears up when he tells her about seeing his mother, in that cave filled with light. Clarke reaches out to rest a comforting hand on his forearm, then, and that catches him by surprise. He jerks his arm away from her, looks about him. They've arrived at MCAP some time while he's been talking, but he's been so wrapped up in his tale he didn't notice it, somehow. He and Clarke are perching side by side on the long reclining chair he usually straps her into. Huh. Well, no sense in strapping her down now – they seem to be talking about him, not her, today.

Clarke doesn't try to touch him again, but she does invite him to resume speaking.

"You were telling me about seeing your mother." She murmurs. "That sounds like it was a big moment for you?"

He nods, tears in his eyes. "It was. It meant everything. I'd missed her so much, Clarke. I'd missed having someone to look out for me. I was so lonely – and I think I'd been lonely for a long time – and I just needed her to be there for me." He swallows painfully. "You weren't there. You didn't come to save me. And I didn't blame you for that, because I knew you wouldn't."

"I would have tried to get to you." She insists, firm. "But I didn't even know you were there. I thought you were dead."

"I thought you were dead when Josephine took you at first, too. But I didn't give up on you." He points out, a little annoyed.

She nods, tearful. "I get that. I get it. I'm so sorry, Bellamy. I said I would never give up on you but you're right – I did believe it when they said you were dead. I didn't ask questions. I didn't look for the body. I didn't look for _you_."

He's not sure what to make of that. He said all that because it was the truth, not because he wanted an emotional apology. Emotional apologies remind him too much of love.

Clarke gathers herself and says something else. "Don't you think that's love, too? The way you were so moved by seeing your mother? Why was that if not because of love?"

He hesitates, rather puzzled by her question. He doesn't know the answer. She's right, he fears – the moment that brought him to faith was founded on his selfish love for his mother, his desperate need to be personally cared for.

Well, now. That's a bundle of contradictions, and it has his head spinning, and he doesn't like it.

Thankfully Clarke has something more to add.

"Did you notice anything strange about the cave? Was there any chance that it was a trick, or a hallucination? Maybe something like the red sun toxin or else the City of Light?"

"I know what I saw." He snaps at her, angry. She's been so understanding up until now. Why is she suddenly suggesting his faith is built on lies? How dare she try to undermine him like this?

"I know you saw it." She agrees mildly, laying that hand back on his arm. For some reason, this time, he doesn't feel the need to pull away. "Of course you saw it, and it was an important moment for you. I was just thinking out loud. I didn't mean to upset you."

He nods, and carries on telling the story. He tells her about the storm subsiding, about scaling the mountain. He tells her about the Bridge glowing green and about taking that final leap of faith.

"Your faith must be really strong for you to jump off a mountain like that." She comments, tone gentle and understanding.

He considers it for a moment. "I'm not sure that's quite right. At the moment I jumped, it was maybe half faith, half desperation. Jumping was my only choice other than dying alone up there. When I came safely through the other side – that's what really confirmed my faith."

She nods. "I get that. It makes sense."

He's taken aback by that. It's the first time any of his old friends has ever said that his story makes sense.

"Yeah?" He checks that he has heard her right.

"Yeah. It – it sounds like Etherea was a really hard time for you. I'm so sorry that I wasn't there for you. And I guess – I understand the choices you made there."

He nods, well satisfied with that. He wasn't expecting her to be understanding, and it makes him see even more clearly why he used to love her, back when he believed in love.

She continues. "I find it harder to understand that you gave up on love." She admits, voice small. "I'm not trying to criticise. I just – it's like I said back when you first brought me to MCAP. Love is what I think of when I think of you. You've got such a big heart."

"I still have love. But my love now is focused on my Shepherd and the cause. It's not selfish love for individuals."

" _Selfish_ love?"

"Yeah. That's how Doucette explained it to me."

She gives a cold laugh. "You're the least selfish person I've ever known, Bellamy."

That makes him smile sadly. She's still so kind to him, even after everything he's had to do to her for all mankind. It makes him really feel the truth of her words about not giving up on him.

It makes him want to explain, more clearly, why he cannot love her. He thinks she deserves that, if nothing else.

"Love never brought me anything but trouble." He mutters, eyes fixed on the floor. "Loving my sister got her locked up and my mum floated, because I tried to do a nice thing for her. Love and heartbreak made me follow Pike and made me hate myself for Octavia's choices. It made me shoot Jaha and commit genocide and everything in between. And I know I don't have to tell you how heavy that guilt is, Clarke. You know better than anyone. So it was a relief to leave it all behind."

"I've sometimes thought love only brings trouble, too." She sympathises. "I thought that when Lexa died and I was heartbroken and alone among strangers. I thought that every time I've made an impossible choice for my people. And I thought that when my mum died and I thought you were dead too. But every time I've ever found myself losing faith in love, you've come through, Bellamy. You've always reminded me that love is a powerful force for good, too."

"Me?"

"You." She confirms, utter certainty in her tone.

He lets that thought sit for a moment, keeps staring at the floor. She's sitting here at his side in enemy territory waiting for him to strap her to a chair, and she's still saying he reminds her that love is good.

He can't quite believe it.

She interrupts his thoughts with a soft question. "What about loving me? Did that ever bring you joy?"

He gasps. They've never outright discussed the fact he used to love her, before now, and he doesn't quite know how to do it.

"Sometimes. I don't know. Mostly I remember a mixture of heartbreak when you betrayed me and peace when you were there. It's like it was easier to deal with the guilt, when you were with me."

He thinks a moment longer, searches those memories that are still intact but not at the forefront of his mind, somehow.

"I _do_ remember happiness with you." He admits in the end. "I remember you always made me smile, even at the worst moments. And I remember being able to hope for a future with you that I never felt I could hope for with anyone else."

"I remember that too." She offers, tearful.

"But loving you was the worst, too. I'm sorry, but it was. Every time you were gone I fell apart all over again."

"Me, too."

He snorts. "You don't break like I do."

"We all break differently." She corrects him firmly. "I retreat inside myself without you. You – you bring out the best in me. You remind me of joy and love and feeling human."

The irony of that statement is not lost on him, right now. He sucks in a shaky breath, wonders what to say next.

Clarke beats him to it. "That's why I'm never going to give up on you. I've left you to cope without me too many times before. And this time I'm sticking with you every step of the way."

He wishes she'd been by his side on Etherea. He knows he shouldn't, because he used to love her, and he shouldn't wish that horrific journey on anyone he has ever cared about. And yet he wishes it more than he has ever wished for anything in his life, he thinks.

The silence sits for a while. They both breathe quietly. Clarke's hand still seems to be on his arm, and he doesn't know what to make of that.

At length, she speaks. "Want me to lie down in the chair now?" She asks, gesturing to the MCAP chair they are both still perched on.

He shakes his head. "No. I think we're done for the day."

She nods, but she doesn't leave the room. She just stays put, still sitting by his side. And he finds himself feeling rather overwhelmed, really, by her understanding and compassion. He expected anger at his dramatic change of heart, not this steady support.

He should have known better, he realises now. This is Clarke, and this is what she has always done for him, ever since the day they sat together beneath that tree.

…...

By the next day, he's gathered his wits a little. He's thought through everything he discussed with Clarke yesterday, and prayed a great deal, and concluded that he can absolutely continue to be loyal to the Shepherd whilst respecting Clarke and enjoying her company. The problem with love is that it causes him to make stupid choices, leaves him burdened with guilt. As long as he doesn't do anything foolish or betray the cause, it's fine to have something of a friendly sense of companionship with Clarke.

He's also keen to learn more about what's really going on inside her head, about her morality and worldview. He knows her very well already – better than he knows himself just now, he's pretty sure – but he still has more questions.

"Could you show me what some of those impossible choices looked like from your point of view?" He asks in MCAP today.

"What do you mean?" She asks, curious, looking up from her chair.

"I want to understand why you did the things you did. I know I mostly did them out of love or fear. But I think – I always thought your motivation was a little different. Can you show me why you pulled the lever at Mount Weather? Or took the bunker for Skaikru at first?"

She nods, understanding, and gets to work. These are all situations he remembers well, of course. But it is very different to see them through her eyes, to have her constant commentary as she talks about her choices, too.

"The bunker was such a difficult one, Bellamy. I honestly thought it was the way to guarantee some of the human race survived. With Skaikru in there, we had experts to run the place. And we ruled out Luna taking it." She swallows. "But I'm so pleased I made the right choice in the end." She concludes, showing yet again that image of herself pointing a gun at him, lowering it with a shaking hand.

He must have seen that memory a dozen times since they started, here. And yet it still brings tears to his eyes, every single time.

He doesn't say anything, and in fact the room lapses into silence for a good couple of minutes. There's something he's trying to piece together, an idea playing at the edges of his consciousness.

 _The human race_. Clarke talked about that, just now. And it's not the first time that idea has come up so far today – there's been _humanity_ , and _humankind_ , and _all people, not just my people_.

Now he comes to think about it, how different is that really from _for all mankind_?

…...

It's Jordan who eventually cracks the code. Bellamy isn't surprised by this – cracking codes to save the human race is apparently something that runs in the family. He's more surprised by what Jordan finds out along the way – that this is a final test, not a last war, and that it is to be taken by one representative on behalf of the human race.

They're sitting at supper and discussing it, not even bothering to keep their voices down – ever fewer guards seem to sit near them in the dining hall, these days. Raven wants to know if she and Jordan can work out any more about this test through science. Echo is quiet, obviously struggling to decide what her role is if there is to be no last war. Bellamy wonders if this is a good time to speak to her about faith – that might help her to reclaim a sense of purpose.

Then Octavia speaks up.

"You should take the test, Clarke. You should represent us all."

Clarke frowns. "I don't see Cadogan agreeing to that."

"I think Octavia's right." Bellamy joins in quickly. "It should be you. Maybe if I suggest that to the Shepherd he might agree."

Clarke gapes at him, stunned. "You think it should be me? What happened to your loyalty to the Shepherd?"

He's a little affronted by that. "I still have faith. But he's been preparing for a last war. This is different. And I think – you have more experience than anyone else here of saving the human race."

Clarke shakes her head, looks back down at her food. Bellamy's rather hurt – he thought his resounding vote of confidence might go some way to shoring up this friendly cordiality they've been practising.

"You won't do it?" Octavia asks, concerned.

"It should be you." Miller adds, firm.

Everyone around the table is nodding – even Raven, and Bellamy remembers Raven and Clarke being on poor terms, back on Sanctum.

But Clarke is frowning, and then she's turning towards him with apprehension in her eyes and a question on her lips.

"Would you do it with me, Bellamy? Would you join me in taking the test?"

He's stunned. He simply cannot believe it, that her faith in him is so strong that she would want him at her side for this even now. Even after betrayal after betrayal, even when they are technically on different sides.

Maybe that's what moves him to agree right away.

"Of course, if that's what you want. If you think that's best. I'll suggest it to the Shepherd."

He looks up, catches his sister grinning in sheer joy. No – not his sister – the woman who used to be his sister. He ought to know better than that, by now.

Oh, who even cares? As long as he doesn't love her, he figures he can call her whatever the hell he likes. He lets it go, and smiles back at her, and digs into his portion of apple pie.

"It's good pie today." He says, trying to preserve that joyful mood.

"The cookies are good too." Clarke offers cheerfully.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You want to swap some?"

He nods, spoons a portion of his pie onto her plate. She breaks a corner off her cookie, places it into his outstretched hand. Her fingers brush his palm slightly, but he doesn't really care. No – he's too busy laughing at the way she spills crumbs everywhere, chastising her for her clumsiness.

It's a pretty mediocre cookie, if he's being honest. He preferred the pie. But even more than that, he likes laughing at the supper table, and looking up to find Octavia still smiling.

He feels a slight twinging of his conscience at all this. He's not sure what the Shepherd would make of laughing and swapping bites of dessert. But he doesn't let it get him down for long.

He can share his rations if he wants to. That doesn't have to have anything to do with love.

…...

It's an odd sort of feeling, making a suggestion to the Shepherd. Bellamy cannot entirely believe that he has any right to go around telling his Shepherd what to do, but he knows it's necessary, because he firmly believes that Clarke is the correct person to take this test and save the human race.

For all mankind.

He knocks at the Shepherd's office, waits to be called in.

"Bellamy. What can I do for you?"

"My Shepherd. I have a suggestion about the final test." He swallows. "I think Clarke and I should take it together."

"You do, do you?" He watches the Shepherd sit back in his chair with an expression which he thinks is more intrigued than annoyed.

"Yes. We have experience of making important decisions together under pressure. And I speak for the good of all mankind rather than out of any personal affection for her when I say that there's no one I would trust more with the fate of the human race."

"And yourself? Why are you joining her, if she is the expert? If you trust her so much?"

Bellamy frowns. He wasn't expecting that question. "Because she doesn't share our faith. I may need to be there to... keep her centred. Remind her what really matters."

"Very good, Bellamy. I think you're right, as it happens – I thought of the two of you right away. But I didn't expect you to come here and suggest it yourself." There, for the first time, Bellamy scents danger, hears the slightest touch of criticism in his tone.

"Just doing my duty, sir. For all mankind."

The Shepherd nods, and Bellamy is dismissed. He supposes he had better go and tell Clarke the news.

…...

Bellamy finds himself in a room he doesn't recognise. He has no idea how he got here – he feels a little like he woke up here after a long sleep, perhaps.

The walls are white, with highlights of electric blue. Some kind of computer equipment lies on the table before him, blinking up at him. There's a small handgun there, too.

How bizarre.

He looks around the rest of the room, notices Clarke over to his left.

"Clarke? You OK?"

She nods, blinking heavily. "Yeah. Yeah, fine. Where are we?"

"No idea."

She frowns. "OK. I guess – let's see what we can find out?"

He nods, heads for the computer. But before he can step up to the table, a voice reaches his ears. It's a strange voice, kind of robotic, neither definitely man nor woman.

"Clarke Griffin and Bellamy Blake. Thank you for coming here today to negotiate."

"Negotiate?" Clarke repeats, a question in her tone.

"We are here to make terms for the salvation of the human race." The voice intones. "One thousand four hundred and seventy-three lives are at stake. The people of both Sanctum and Bardo."

Bellamy nods. Of course – a peace negotiation. That's what he and Clarke do best.

"Good." He speaks up. "Get to the point. Tell us the terms."

A window opens up in the wall. That's interesting, Bellamy thinks – he doesn't remember seeing a window frame before.

He stops thinking that when he notices what is beyond the window. A land of green, with blue skies, and with fluffy white clouds scudding slowly by. There are deer grazing, and a glistening river meanders through the scene.

It looks beautiful, he thinks. It looks like _home_.

"This will be the new home of the human race." Sure enough, the voice echoes his thoughts. "This is planet Earth in its current state. You can see it is fully recovered from the previous disasters. There is food and water and land enough for all your people here."

"Great." Clarke nods, all business, clearly convinced by the impressive scene beyond the window. "What are your terms?"

There's a pause. Bellamy holds his breath. Will they have to give up their weapons or their food or their tech?

"Clarke Griffin. You must kill Bellamy Blake." He feels the air rush from his lungs, turns to look at Clarke.

She splutters out a cough. "I – _what_? You can't be serious."

"Clarke Griffin. To lead the human race home, you must kill Bellamy Blake." It's real, then. That's really what the voice said.

He's going to die. All these years, so many close shaves, and he's going to be shot by the woman he used to love.

" _Why_? That makes no sense. He – no. I won't do it." Clarke bites out, visibly distressed.

"He has proven himself a traitor." The voice intones. "He has betrayed you many times, and most recently by giving away your secrets to the Shepherd. He has since betrayed the Shepherd, moved by his love for you. We will have no traitors in our midst on Earth. He is dangerous, and he must die. As soon as you shoot him, you can bring your people home."

So that's it. He dies, and all mankind gets to live happily and peacefully on this bountiful rejuvenated Earth.

He has no right to stand in the way of that.

"I won't do it." Clarke repeats, but Bellamy ignores her. He picks up the gun, walks towards her, holding it out before him.

He reaches for her, takes her hand, wraps her hand around the gun. And then he kneels at her feet, and looks up at her, and begs her to see sense. He can't let her fail at this, not when he has already let her down a thousand times.

"Do it, Clarke. Just do it and go home."

"I won't. I can't."

He sighs, takes her hand, brings the gun up towards him. "You're letting your love for me make you weak, Clarke."

"Love isn't weakness. My love for you has always been my greatest strength." She says, bristling, fire in her eyes as she pulls the gun away from him.

He thinks about that as he kneels there. The seconds seem to stretch out into lifetimes, as he considers her words. He thinks about the radio calls he's heard – the calls that kept her sane in isolation. He thinks about his love for Clarke, which was once strong enough to drive him to climb a mountain and ultimately change his faith.

"I won't do it, and I'm not going to change my mind." Clarke declares with utter conviction. "The human race can make do some other place. But Bellamy lives. I'm not interested in a future without him. I never have been."

There's a pause. He's still kneeling at her feet, gazing up at her, wondering why she has to look so unfairly beautiful in moments like this. It makes him want to take her in his arms and hold her tight and pretend that Etherea never happened.

Then the robotic voice speaks up. "Congratulations. You have passed the final test. You are worthy to return to Earth."

Bellamy jerks his head upwards, confused. "What?"

"Love is the most human thing of all." The voice tells them. "You two have shown love today. You are humans – compassionate ones, at that. You are worthy to return to Earth. Earth stone online. Earth code will follow."

He blinks, still stunned, as the Bridge code for Earth scrolls across the wall. He sure hopes Clarke is memorising that or jotting it down, because no way is he in any state to take that in, just now.

And then, all of a sudden, that mysterious room and the window onto Earth vanishes. Bellamy finds himself in the stone room, kneeling on the cold white floor.

He gets up and hurries away, out of the room and down the hallway. He's not sure where he's going – only that he needs to get out of there before he can wonder what it would be like to kiss Clarke at long last, after all these years.

…...

In the end, Bellamy spends most of the rest of the day on his knees, too, as he kneels in prayer and tries to make sense of that final test. He simply cannot put all the pieces together – that Clarke still loves him so much she would not shoot him for the whole of the human race, that he still loves her enough in his heart to be glad of it.

He's been starting to respect Clarke for her passion for saving the human race, recently. So he ought to be disappointed with her for throwing that all away for love. But somehow, he isn't. He's _thrilled_.

It turns out love is the final answer, and it's what makes a person human. He's not sure what he makes of that – is it possible that the test was wrong? Or is it possible that the loneliness and emptiness he's been feeling since returning to Bardo is not just a passing phase?

And anyway, all other questions aside, why the hell does Clarke still love him when he's incapable of loving her back?

She comes to see him, later that evening. She's never been to see him in his room before and it gives him an odd sort of prickling sensation at the back of his neck.

"Hey." She mutters, visibly uncomfortable. "Can I come in? I brought apple pie."

He tries for a smile, and steps back to allow her through the door. He takes a seat at the foot of the bed, pats the mattress at his side in invitation.

She joins him, and then hands him his bowl of apple pie.

He doesn't eat it. He really does like apple pie, but he's starting to think he might like Clarke Griffin more. And that brings with it such a tangled mess of conflicting emotions, from joy right through to shame at his betrayal of the Shepherd's cause, that he has rather lost his appetite.

"I gave Cadogan the Earth code." She says softly. "Even though he didn't take the test. And even though – well, he doesn't believe in love, does he?"

"He does. Just not selfish love." Bellamy corrects her, even though it hurts to label Clarke's love as selfish after what they both went through this morning.

She nods. "So, yeah. I gave him the Earth code."

"Why?" He cannot help but ask.

"I guess I think he deserves a second chance at warmth and compassion. He says he wants things here to change a little – he has a lot of respect for the stones, and he was interested to hear about the final test." She swallows, continues more hesitantly. "But I also gave him the code because – you're his people now. And I don't want you and me to be on different sides."

"I don't want that either." He says, because it seems safer than admitting that he's starting to think he might like to be _her_ people, again, after all. He doesn't dwell on that, but moves swiftly on to a new question. "Did you realise it was a simulation? Or did you think it was real?"

"I was absolutely certain it was real."

"Yeah, me too." He swallows. "Just like I thought the Cave of Ascent was real, but I know you think it was a simulation or a hallucination."

"But I realise it was real to _you_ , and that's what really matters." She tells him firmly.

He nods, pleased with that answer. He's still trying to figure out what actually happened, but he does know that it was real for him, in that moment, and that it changed his life. It's affirming to hear that Clarke understands that too.

She gives a half smile. Then she bites her lip. She sits there for a couple of seconds, deep in thought.

And then she sucks in a loud breath and asks a question. "What did the test mean, when it said you betrayed the Shepherd?"

He winces, recalls the accusation that he betrayed the Shepherd out of love for her. He hasn't done anything so very terrible, he maintains. All he's done is keep quiet about Madi and eat supper with a smile. And yeah, maybe he could have pushed harder to get information out of her in MCAP, but they passed the final test so does any of this even matter?

It matters to Clarke, he realises. And most frightening of all, because it matters to Clarke, he finds that it matters to him, quite without his permission.

He summons his courage.

"Yeah. I guess – the test could sense that I'm more... attached to you than I should be." He swallows. "That I still feel some personal loyalty to you."

She nods, and he senses that it's a bit of a struggle. In fact, there are a few of those silent tears spilling from her eyes and coursing down her cheeks.

He frowns. He didn't mean to make her cry, and he doesn't have a cloth to hand. Gentle, hesitant, he reaches up to brush the tears away with the soft pad of his thumb.

"Thank you." She murmurs, leaning into his touch.

The problem with his faith, he notes, much later that night when he is failing to sleep, is that he has no one to wipe away his tears when he cries. He's starting to think life might be better, if Clarke's thumb caressed his cheek every time he found himself weeping.

…...

Bellamy feels out of place and more lonely than ever, in the aftermath of the final test. Clarke and the Shepherd are occupied with peace negotiations. Bellamy used to spend moments like this by Clarke's side, but that's not his place any more. And the Shepherd certainly doesn't need him at his side.

Bellamy is no longer taking Clarke to MCAP, since the final test has been passed. That means that they do not have those few minutes every day to talk, but he makes a point of bumping into her and having supper with her and finding other opportunities to talk, instead.

He thinks he'd go insane, if he didn't. He's really struggling to hold onto any sense of identity, right now, feeling lost and unnecessary and completely confused as he wrestles with his conflicting feelings about faith and love and everything in between.

He must be letting his distress show in his face, this morning. Clarke is looking at him in concern as she pulls him aside to a quiet corner of the oxygen farm to chat.

"What's wrong?" She asks him, soft.

He takes a deep breath, lets it out with a sigh. He likes it here among the trees. It reminds him of Earth, back when things were simpler even if not much happier.

"I don't know who I am any more." He tells her.

"We can talk about it if you want." He does want that, and he was hoping she would offer. No, scratch that. He _knew_ she would offer.

"I loved you." He forces the confession out, tells her in as many words for the first time. He sees her start in shock, even though he knows she already knows it. His long lost love for her has been the bedrock of their every interaction since he came back from Etherea.

She gathers herself, gives the slightest nod.

"I loved you." He repeats, and it is easier to say it, this time. "That was my first thought in that cave on Etherea. That was why I started climbing that mountain – I was so desperate to get back to you. You'd just lost your mum and I didn't want you to lose me too. And – and I didn't want to die without ever telling you." He swallows. "So if loving you was why I started climbing – how the hell did I end up here?" He looks down at his white robes, ashamed.

"I'm sorry." She whispers, shaky. "I'm sorry. I was wrong. I'm not ready to talk about it yet. I'm so sorry."

She flees, ducking between trees, tripping over roots in her haste to get out of his presence.

Strangely, he isn't upset as he watches her go. He's not angry with her for leaving. He's too overwhelmed by utter certainty that she really does still love him deeply. She must – there's no other reason she'd have fled like that.

Perhaps not shooting him in that final test should have made that clear. But if he knows Clarke half as well as he thinks he does, there are plenty of people she wouldn't choose to shoot. He's pretty sure, though, that he's the only person she loves enough to cry over quite like that.

…...

He wants to make it up to her. Not the whole faith and heartbreak thing – he's pretty sure there's nothing in the world he could ever do to pay her back for that, even if he wanted to. Which he doesn't, obviously, because the Shepherd saved him and he still intends to give his loyalty in return.

But he wants to put things right for upsetting her this afternoon. He therefore grabs a slice of apple pie from the dining hall and heads for her room. That's allowed between them, he's sure of it. She did the same for him only days ago.

He hasn't been inside of her room. He has only ever loitered on the threshold to take her to MCAP. That's partly because she shares a room with Octavia, and he's still somewhat scared of the young woman he used to call sister.

He knocks at the door, and it is Octavia's voice that calls out in answer. He opens the door, and finds that she is alone in the room.

"Hey. It's me." He swallows self-consciously. "I was looking for Clarke."

"She's just in the shower."

Well. Now he's here, holding a slice of pie, looking like an idiot and facing down a woman who hates him.

"Come on in." Octavia sounds positively cheerful, and that surprises him. "She'll be back any minute. Have a seat and wait for her."

He does take a seat, perching on the corner of Clarke's bed. She'll be back any minute. He can do this – he can make polite conversation until then.

"Do you want some pie?" He asks, holding out the dish.

"No, that's OK. You brought that for Clarke."

"You could have some too. It seems only right – you're the one who introduced me to apple pie."

She grins, then, and reaches out for the bowl. He hands it over, relieved at the success of his peace gesture. She eats a couple of bites in silence, and Bellamy wonders what to say.

"Read any good books recently?" He asks her, then curses himself. That's a stupid, inane question, to ask someone he used to be so close to.

She doesn't object, though. She just shakes her head. "No. They don't seem to be that into books on Bardo." She comments lightly. "And you were always more obsessed with reading than I was." She reminds him.

"True. I just – yeah." He trails off, embarrassed.

"Did I ever tell you I got into telling Miller all your Greek and Roman stories in the bunker?" She asks.

"No." They didn't really have a cosy catch-up at any point.

"It was the strangest thing, Bellamy. I think we used to do it to feel close to you. One day I made some reference to Prometheus and he asked what the hell I was on about, and next thing I knew I was telling him the whole story. And then Icarus the next day. And then Jason the day after."

"That's – that's something." He says, woefully inadequate. It's difficult not to feel moved by this conversation, he's finding.

"Yeah. So next time you sit next to Miller at supper, you should totally ask him."

"Maybe I will."

There's a silence, then, but it's a rather more comfortable silence. They smile a little, and Octavia hands the half-eaten pie portion back to him.

It is at that point that Clarke walks in, hair still wet from her shower, falling in strands around her face. She's wearing black leggings that look really soft and a grey T shirt that clings to her curves.

Bellamy has to admit, in moments like this, that he still finds her incredibly beautiful.

"Bellamy." She greets him with every appearance of joy. "Hey. I wasn't expecting you."

"No. Sorry. I came to give you pie." He holds up the bowl, feeling a little ridiculous. "And to – to check that you're doing OK, after earlier."

"I am, yeah. It's really great to see you." She grins. "I won't say no to the pie, though."

He stays a couple of hours, talking to the pair of them about everything and nothing. They might be some of the best hours of his life, he thinks – the two people he loves the most in the universe, safe and well and remembering how to laugh with him.

He's not supposed to believe in love any more. But it seems that, somehow, his heart hasn't got that message.

…...

Clarke never asks him for anything in return. That's the thing that really amazes him, as the days pass by, and she just keeps loving him generously. She never so much as asks for a hug or a fleeting touch of the hand – which is a shame, because he seems to remember he likes hugging her, likes touching her hand.

He thinks he understands the situation a little better now. Sure, she didn't come to Etherea to save him, not like he saved her from Josephine in Sanctum. But he couldn't have expected her to – she didn't even know he was missing – even if it hurt at the time.

Instead, she's been saving him ever since he got back, one gentle word at a time. That's a fight as tough as any he's gone through for her only very different. There is no violence and no weapons, apart from that spiked MCAP headpiece he used to force her into. But he thinks it must be worse to fight a friend than a stranger. Betrayal at the hands of the one you love is the worst pain, after all. Continuing to fight for him – and against him – must have taken real strength.

Sometimes he feels so awful for what he put her through that he wishes he could have sacrificed himself in the final test. But then he remembers that she wouldn't have wanted him to do that. She doesn't ever admit to wanting anything from him – not repayment for her loyalty, nor any kind of amends. He's pretty convinced that if she allowed herself to wish for anything at all, it would simply be that he would let himself love her again.

But he's not ready to love her, not really. He's still trying to figure out the conflict between the faith that saved him on that mountain and his feelings for Clarke.

There's something else he is ready to say to her, though. He invites her on a walk through the oxygen farm, pauses by a particularly dense stand of trees that reminds him of Earth, back when they first lived there together. And then he summons his courage.

"Thank you." He tells her fervently. "Thank you for not giving up on me."

"Any time." She says, and he can hear that she means it. That she really would stand by him any time he needed it.

He doesn't deserve her. But he remembers that forgiveness is not about what he deserves.

…...

Clarke comes to visit him in his room quite a lot, these days. So it is that he thinks nothing of it, at first, when she knocks on the door tonight. But then he takes in her face, determined yet tearful, and starts to suspect that something is amiss.

"We're going back to Sanctum tomorrow." She informs him, voice quivering. "And then back to Earth. And what with time dilation – well. We might not meet again." She swallows loudly. "So this is goodbye."

It barely takes a second for him to make his mind up. "Could I come with you?" He asks.

She looks stunned. "Yeah. Sure. If you want." She sucks in a breath. "But don't you want to stay with the disciples? What about your faith? What about _for all mankind_?"

It's a serious question, and it deserves a serious answer. "I'm starting to understand there are a lot of ways to serve humanity." He tells her, raw and honest as he grapples with issues he is still struggling to get his head round. "I think yours is the best I've come across so far. It's not perfect, but it's the best. You're all about the common good but – there's compassion for individuals there, too."

She's staring at him, lost for words. He doesn't think he's seen her lost for words before, not in all the years he's known her.

"The disciples are changing." He continues. "Learning that love won the final test has made the Shepherd rethink a few things. He had a family, once. I wonder if maybe he's thinking of them." Perhaps it is sacrilege to suggest such a thing, but he's gone and said it now. "I still – my faith will always be important to me for the role it played in bringing me safely back from Etherea if nothing else. But I think maybe it's time for me to come back to Sanctum." He pauses, gathers his courage. "More than anything else, I don't want to lose you again, Clarke. And I think that probably means my time with the disciples is over."

She nods, those silent tears tracking down her cheeks. He tastes salt and realises that he must be crying too. He's a little embarrassed about that, the way he's been caught getting emotional over his personal attachment to Clarke. But maybe that's OK, he tells himself. Maybe it's OK that he's still confused and emotional about the whole thing.

While he's grappling with this, something of a minor miracle occurs. Clarke reaches out a tentative hand, brushes a couple of his tears away with the soft pad of her thumb. He allows himself to lean right into her touch, until he's resting his cheek in the palm of her hand.

"I'd like that, Bellamy. If you're ready to come home, that would make me really happy."

"I'm ready." He tells her, and he's never been more sure of anything in his life.

She nods, smiling that little desperate smile she wears when she's trying not to cry. He's very familiar with that look, given the past they share. He smiles back at her, aware that he's still crying, but beginning to wonder if they might be tears of happiness or confusion or mixed emotions rather than only of sorrow.

He gathers his courage, makes one more brave demand.

"Could we maybe hug?" He asks softly.

All at once she is stepping forward, her arms shooting around his waist, her face resting against the crook of his neck. It's a good hug, he decides, as he holds her close – one of their best. In fact, he thinks it might even beat that hug in the lab before the death wave, if only because it feels so good to snatch some happiness from the jaws of despair like this.

"I missed you." He murmurs, as he hugs her.

"I missed you too." She gasps, audibly tearful.

He thinks maybe it's a good thing that she's cried so much since he came back from Etherea. She was developing a nasty habit of bottling it all up, turning her emotions inwards. Perhaps it's healthier for them to both practise feeling real human feelings once more, and learn how to bear their burdens together.

…...

Sanctum is much as he remembers it – a place of strife and sadness. This is why he came into his faith, because of selfish squabbles like these between people who love only themselves and their own.

No, he remembers that's not true, now. He found his faith to scale that mountain and get back to the people he loved, and because his mother showed him the way.

Clarke pulls him out of his introspection, walking up to his side, hovering just close enough that he can feel her warmth.

"Bet you wish you'd stayed in Bardo, huh?" She asks, gesturing out at the noisy village filled with Eligius tents and Wonkru warriors and scared followers of the Primes. Her tone suggests she is joking, but he can hear serious fear beneath that.

"No. My place is with you." He says, as if it is obvious.

In fact, he's beginning to think it is as clear as day.

…...

Clarke has a lot to do, as they settle disputes in Sanctum and prepare for the move to Earth. He works hard to help her as best as he can, whether by attending meetings with her or picking Madi up from school or simply by ensuring she eats a square meal. He comes to realise within a couple of days that there is nothing selfish at all about his love for Clarke, and hers for him. It's about the two of them doing their best for humanity together, more than anything else. And even on a personal level it's about giving her all the support he can, not taking her affection for his own.

He's beginning to understand, now he has a little distance from the Shepherd and his followers, how it is that he fell so deeply under their spell. He was fearing for his life, of course, and desperate to leave Etherea, and that played a large part.

But he cannot help but feel that the word _selfish_ was incredibly well-chosen. It's a word he's always hated, always feared. He couldn't be selfish as a child – everything in their family was about Octavia's safety and wellbeing. That links to why he was so moved to see his mother, too – she never really fussed over him like that as a boy, because she was so preoccupied with his sister.

There are other times in his life he has detested the thought of selfishness, as well. He was selfish when he destroyed the wristbands and the radio to save his own skin and cost three hundred people their lives. He was selfish when he took Echo to his bed to keep the ghosts at bay, rather than waiting to see if the nightblood solution had worked out.

It makes him wonder whether there was something more going on than genuine faith, on Bardo. Whether perhaps Doucette manipulated his guilt and self-loathing every bit as much as Pike once manipulated his grief and regret and fear.

…...

Bellamy spends a lot of time with Clarke, these days. It feels good – in fact, he would say, it feels _right_. It feels right to stand at her side, and to laugh with her if the moment allows it.

He's less comfortable, though, with her trust.

"Could you go get the weapons inventory for Eligius from Nikki?" Clarke asks him, today, and he panics a little. That sounds like a meaningful job, involving weapons and accuracy, and he's not sure he should be allowed to do that so soon after his disloyalty and betrayal.

"Are you sure?" He asks, quiet. "Wouldn't you rather send Miller?"

She frowns. "No. You'll do great." She pauses. "I trust you." She says firmly, all but confirming she knows what this is really about.

Not again, he thinks. It's when she trusts him that things always go wrong.

Only this time, nothing does go wrong. Nikki is entirely cooperative, and no one shoots anyone or appears to be hiding anything, and all is well.

It's only a damn inventory, but it has him walking on cloud nine for the rest of the day.

"You got it done, then?" Clarke asks him that evening. They're sitting on her couch together. He doesn't remember being invited, as such, but he seems to have ended up here all the same.

He grins and leans back into the cushions. "Of course I did. I'm starting to remember who I used to be, you know?"

She frowns, thoughtful. "I don't know about that. You're still you, definitely. But this experience has changed you, and that's fine too. Time doesn't stand still."

He nods, and lets her have that one. And she leans across the couch a little, rests her head on his shoulder, and he resolves that he doesn't want to move from this position for the rest of the night if he can help it.

…...

It's strange, learning how to have friends again. It's even stranger trying to put things right with the people he used to love, and is starting to try to love again. Things are going well with Clarke, and Octavia is not too bad. She seems to want things to be OK between them, if nothing else, and their relationship has survived plenty of crises before.

He's not so sure about Echo. He found himself sitting with her and Hope at lunch today, and they seem very happy together. But there's still a hurt look in Echo's eyes he cannot entirely forget.

He asks Clarke about it that evening, because of course he does. She's Clarke, and she's the first person he thinks of whenever he's unsure about anything, really.

"You know my relationship with Echo? Did I really love her?" His memories may be intact, but he still cannot quite recapture that feeling.

Clarke hesitates a little, then answers with another question. "Don't you think you're asking the wrong person?"

"I think I'm asking exactly the right person. I know you'll tell me the truth."

"I can't. I don't know." She shakes her head. "It's too close to home, I'm sorry."

He sits there and analyses that for a moment. Her attitude, her choice of words, makes him think he understands what's afoot here.

"You hoped I didn't but feared I did." He summarises.

She nods.

"I think I did in a way." He muses. "But I remember I was always more obsessed with looking out for you. Do you remember that time I took you to find Gabriel and just left Echo to cope in Sanctum?" His memories are much clearer, these days. He never really lost them, of course, but he no longer feels like he is looking at them through the storm clouds of Etherea.

"I remember." She tells him, with a soft smile.

She's been smiling a lot more, recently, despite the stress of preparing for their move back to Earth. He likes that for her. He thinks he'd give anything, more or less, to have her smile more often, but that doesn't make his love _selfish_ , he's pretty sure. It just makes it deep, and true, and human.

…...

A strange thing starts to happen, between him and Clarke. Gradually, a little at a time, she starts to share her burdens with him, too, rather than only ever pouring her soul into supporting him.

"I feel like Madi and I have drifted apart." She mutters, this evening. "While we were gone she grew so close to her new friends, and to Murphy and Emori."

"That's not the same as drifting apart from you. Sure, she has other people in her life now, but you're still her mother." He reassures her firmly.

"Thanks, Bellamy." She sighs. "I might go to bed, try to get up early and have a long breakfast with her before I walk her to school."

He nods, trying to look encouraging. He feels a bit guilty about all this, because he knows it's the time she spent in Bardo saving him that has cost Clarke all this time with her daughter. And he would never ask her to choose between the love of her life or her child – he knows that's an impossible and unfair choice. He knows that, because he accidentally put her in that position once before.

He does the only thing he can do, in the end. He cannot turn back time, cannot really put it right. But he can pull Clarke into a long and heartfelt hug, and so that is what he does.

…...

Mostly Bellamy is doing OK, these days. He's more or less managed to say goodbye to his allegiance to the Shepherd, although he understands that the time he spent as a disciple will always be part of him and there's no taking it back.

But sometimes, especially at night, the guilt intrudes.

He feels guilty for putting Clarke through MCAP, guilty for giving his sister and girlfriend the cold shoulder. Most of all he feels guilty for succumbing to that deceptive faith in the first place – he knows how it happened, when he looks back at his time on Etherea, but he can no longer really feel in his heart the conviction that led him to throw himself off that mountain.

He's having a bad night, tonight. He awoke sweating and screaming, and he doesn't have the power of prayer to drive the ghosts away any more. He tried it tonight, just to be sure, but getting down on his knees and whispering words about the light of the Shepherd doesn't really work since he chose to leave Bardo.

He does the only thing he can think of, in the circumstances. He goes to see Clarke. He's pretty sure she won't mind – waking her up in the middle of the night seems like a pretty small sin compared with strapping her to a chair and wrenching her memories from her for the good of her enemies.

He knocks at her bedroom window, not her front door. He doesn't want to wake Madi.

"Bellamy?" Clarke leans out of the window, confused. "Are you OK?"

"I've been better." He admits, because things go best when he and Clarke are honest with each other. "Can I come in?"

She nods, so he climbs through the window. Her room is on the ground floor so it's hardly a challenge. There's something funny about this, he thinks. Climbing through the window is the kind of thing he's seen in old Earth comedy and romance movies. It's like he's having a secret tryst with Clarke.

He might have to try that for real, one of these days.

"Sorry." He tells her, when he's inside the room and perched on her bed. "I'm just having a bad night."

"Want to tell me about it?"

He nods. He's getting good at talking openly with her, now. "I'm just feeling really guilty. Thinking about how... weak it was of me, to go all in for the Shepherd like that even though it meant betraying you. And I can't help but compare it to the way you survived six years on Earth without me, but managed to stay sane."

"Thanks to you." She reminds him, with a gentle smile. She reaches a hand out to rest on his thigh, and keeps talking. "It's different, Bellamy, and there's no point comparing it. You remember I came out of those six years absolutely obsessed with Madi's welfare? I think that was a devotion as strong as any faith. That's what I was holding onto." She pauses, sucks in a deep breath. "The situations were completely different, too. I knew you'd come back for me, if I could just keep going. But you knew you were going to have to get yourself out of there. You had a very different goal, and I don't blame you for doing anything you could to reach it."

"No?"

"No. I'm happy you did, really. I didn't enjoy your disciple phase, of course. But if that was the price we had to pay for you to come home at all, then it was worth it." She declares with utter conviction. He never thought about it like that, and it makes his load feel a little lighter, listening to her say it now.

"I still wonder what really happened in that cave." He admits. "I don't know whether it was real, or advanced tech, or whether it was a hallucination brought on by exhaustion or isolation or some drug in the air."

"I guess we'll never know." She offers gently. "Do you ever wonder if they sent you there on purpose? Set up the whole situation to get you to turn against me?"

"I guess we'll never know that, either."

He lets the silence sit for a moment. It's quite lovely, just spending a moment with Clarke like this, feeling the warmth of her hand on his thigh. He's sorry he's keeping her from sleep, of course, but he understands now that they're both happier for having moments like this than they would be if they tried to pretend they didn't want to help each other out.

"I'm sorry I put you in MCAP, too." He murmurs. "I don't think I've ever outright said that. I understand what you said when I first got back from Etherea, now, about not letting me do that to myself." She didn't want to let him turn himself into a monster, didn't want him to do anything he wouldn't be able to forgive himself for later.

"You're forgiven." She says, as she always does. As if she speaks for the universe as a whole, when she absolves him of his sins, not just from her own selfish love.

He needs to stop thinking in those terms, he chastises himself gently. Love isn't selfish. That needs to become his new mantra. Maybe that's what he should pray on, next time he finds himself unable to sleep at night.

"I should get going." He says. He's feeling calmer now, and he ought to let Clarke sleep.

"You can stay if you want." She offers, off-hand, as if they are a perfectly normal couple.

He can't stay, not yet. He's not ready for that step towards a more conventional kind of love.

"I can't. I'm sorry. Thanks for offering, though." He smiles nervously. "One day, I hope."

"Whenever you're ready." She pulls him into a parting hug, all warmth and comfort and love.

"Soon." He whispers into her hair, hugging her back tight.

And then he climbs back out of the window, and walks into the night.

…...

They're due to head back to Earth tomorrow. It's been a long day, filled with last minute crises and unforeseen stumbling blocks, but at last all is more or less ready.

It's late, and Bellamy is sitting on Clarke's couch. He really ought to go home, but he cannot bear to leave quite yet. Not until he has asked her a rather important question – one that he knows, instinctively, he needs to ask here on Sanctum. He wants it answered before they return home to the planet where their love story began.

"Could you tell me about love?" He asks, eyes fixed firmly on the worn carpet at her feet. "What does love mean to you? I don't really believe love is selfish any more, but I'm still trying to work it out. You feel personal love, but you're all for saving humanity – it's like _for all mankind_ but different."

He risks raising his eyes from the floor, sees her nodding slowly.

"I don't think love is selfish at all. It's about giving and sharing, doing things for other people, not yourself. Sure, sometimes it's about how you can make those people happy and take care of them because that makes _you_ happy, but I don't believe there's anything selfish about being happy that the people you love are happy."

He nods. That does sound like it makes sense.

She keeps talking. "To me, love is the way you always have my back, but you always respect what I would want and don't make stupid choices in my name. I've never loved you more than when you left me on Earth so you could live. That was exactly what I wanted you to do, and I loved you for listening to me, that last conversation we had. That's one of the reasons I called you every day."

He nods again, reaches out to squeeze her hand. But then he doesn't let go, keeps holding it tight as she continues to speak.

"Most of all I think love is the way we keep each other centred and remind each other what really matters." She concludes, still clinging to his hand as if for dear life.

He doesn't miss the fact that she has long since stopped speaking in generalities and lapsed into describing their relationship as if they are still in love with each other.

Probably, he thinks, that's because she realises that they are.

…...

When they arrive back to Earth, Clarke is busy. She's running about all over the place, showing Eligius where to pitch their tents and Wonkru where to set up their temporary shelters until cabins can be built. Bellamy offers to help, but she tells him it's fine, and he should go catch up with his sister.

"Octavia. Hey."

"Hey, big brother." She greets him, then freezes, as if realising her mistake.

"It's fine, Octavia. O. You can – yeah. Call me what you like."

"Can I call you a massive pain in the ass?" She teases, visibly relieved.

"I might have to think about that one." He's not fluent in joking around, not yet, but he intends to work on it. He seems to remember he joked on Etherea, at the beginning, before that mountain changed him.

"What are you doing here?" Octavia asks, even as she makes a start on pulling some branches together for her lean-to.

"Watching your Earth Skills demonstration. Nice shelter, O."

She rolls her eyes. "No space for you. I'm sharing with Niylah."

He nods. "Yeah. That's cool. I don't really know why I'm here, if I'm being honest. Clarke sent me to hang out with you while she's busy. I guess she's checking I don't wander off and get lost again." He tries to joke, and does not entirely succeed.

Octavia offers him a sympathetic smile. "Who's she camping with? Has she got herself a tent? I saw Madi building a shelter with the other kids." She says, gesturing to the corner of camp where the teenagers are all laughing together loudly.

Sure enough, there is Madi, obviously intending to camp with her friends.

"I don't know. Do you think I should -?" He pauses, draws breath. "Do you think, if I built a shelter, she might share it with me?"

"I can't speak for Clarke. But I know that Lincoln was still my home, even after he was a reaper." She tells him, voice raw with emotion.

Yeah. He thinks that probably answers his question. He gives his little sister a big hug, and then goes to build a two person shelter.

…...

The sun is long since set by the time Clarke stops rushing around. Everyone in camp has been fed, and had enough water, and is settling into their bed for the night.

Clarke sits, heavily, on a log by the fire. Bellamy joins her, sits close by her side.

"You ready to come home now?" He asks.

She nods, yawning. "Yeah. God, I'm tired. I should go see if there are any spaces in any of the tents. Nikki owes me a favour."

"Or you could come home." He repeats, firm.

"Home?" She picks up on that particular word at last.

"I built us a shelter. I hope that's OK. It's – it's that one, over there by Octavia and Niylah."

He's expecting at least a little surprise, he thinks. But there is none on her face at all, only pure joy, and a sleepy, comfortable kind of love.

"Thanks, Bellamy. That looks perfect. Let's go home."

It doesn't take them long to settle into their makeshift beds. They have to lie close together, because it's not a large shelter, but that's fine. It doesn't feel as strange as Bellamy expected it to, really. It feels almost natural, and rather long overdue.

Feeling brave, he reaches out for her, wraps an arm around her waist. To his relief and joy, she responds in kind, curling into him, nestling her head on his chest, until they are both holding each other with their limbs hopelessly intertwined.

He remembers everything about that mountain. He remembers terror, and loneliness, and most of all he wishes he had Clarke there, to hold him and let him hold her in turn like this.

"Sorry it's not the biggest or warmest home."

"It's perfect." She tells him, and it sounds like she means it.

"I'll build us a cabin, in time. I always wanted that back when we lived here the first time round. A little wood cabin with a bedroom and a lounge and – and maybe a kids' bedroom, too. If that's something you'd like." He hedges, suddenly nervous, for all that he knows with absolute certainty that this woman is thoroughly in love with him.

"I'd like that a lot." She agrees easily, and he can hear exhaustion in her voice.

She's going to fall asleep soon. And that means he needs to get on with this, because there's something he has to say to her. He wanted to say it their first night back on Earth, and that time is fast ticking away from them.

He squeezes her tight, takes a deep breath.

"I love you." He informs her, and he likes the way it sounds. He likes the way it tastes on his tongue, even, and the way it feels to shape the words with his lips.

"I love you, too."

He's grinning from ear to ear, and he fears that might make what he plans to do next a little awkward. He gives it a go anyway, curling his hand around her chin to bring her face up to his for one soft, sleepy kiss. It works despite his inconvenient smile, as she melts against him and sighs into his mouth.

"Welcome home." He whispers, when at last she pulls away.

"It's good to be back." She agrees, settling back into his chest.

They call it a night, there, and that's fine. She's exhausted, and her rest is more important to him than his desire. And apart from anything else, he thinks it might take a little longer before he's comfortable giving free rein to just how much he wants her. He's hurt her, before now, and he doesn't want to do that again.

He simply relaxes in her arms and holds her close in turn. He's going to fall asleep tonight cuddling Clarke, and loving Clarke, and sharing a home with Clarke, and that's more than enough joy for one day, he figures. In fact, it's more joy than he was expecting to feel in this lifetime, not so long ago.

Love is a bit like leaping from a mountainside, he decides, as he drifts off to the sound of Clarke's gentle snores. Its a leap of faith, but with Clarke at his side, he knows he's safe.

He knows he'll survive the fall.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
